Concussions and Cows
by Fat Puppy
Summary: Sam suffers a concussion and his confused state leads to an odd discussion. Season 13 at some point after "A Most Holy Man".


**Title** : Concussions and Cows

 **Fandom** : Supernatural

 **Summary** : Sam suffers a concussion and his confused state leads to an odd discussion. Season 13 at some point after "A Most Holy Man".

* * *

"Dude, seriously. That's four in the last month."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"You're getting slow, is what you are."

"I'm not slow, they just caught me off guard."

"All of them? Even Donatello? He's old, Sam. And a freakin' muppet."

"He was also contaminated by the demon tablet, Dean. Not to mention, Asmodeus."

"I'm serious, Sam. Maybe we should have your head checked out. You got nailed hard enough to knock you out. Again. More blood. Again. Concussions can be serious, man. Here."

Dean handed his brother a clean towel from the motel bathroom and removed the blood-soaked one, tossing it in the trash. Another day, another knock to the head for the younger Winchester. Dean tried to joke, but he was a more than little concerned.

"At least sit down and take it easy until the bleeding stops."

Sam did as his brother held three fingers in front of his face.

"How many fingers?"

"Dean."

"How many, Sam?"

"Three, okay? Three. Jesus. I'm fine. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Now, Dean pulled a chair in front and with a small flashlight in his hand reached for Sam's face. Sam pulled back. "What are you doing?"

"Lemme check your eye reaction."

"Dean, stop."

"No, Sam. If I can't get you to go to the hospital or at least a damn clinic, then you'll need to humor me and let me test a few things."

"You're not a doctor."

"No, but between us, we've had enough concussions to keep most hospitals in business. Come'ere."

Sam jerked his head back again.

"Dude, I will knock you out and drag your ass to the nearest clinic if I need to."

Sam retorted the comment with a glare. "You're worried about my head but willing to knock me unconscious to get my head checked out. Yeah. Okay. That makes perfect sense."

"It does. Can you just let me check, please? It'll take three minutes. I'll even get you a cookie after if you're a good boy."

The teasing didn't work, Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not four, Dean."

"Then stop acting like it, damn it."

A pause. Sam stopped. Maybe he was acting a little childish. He had been popped a few times recently. It wouldn't kill him to make sure things were okay up there. And Dean did sound unusually concerned.

"Fine. No hospital. You can check."

"Good. Now, how many fingers?"

"We just did that, Dean."

"Sam."

"Okay. Four this time."

Accepting that, Dean held one finger vertically and began moving it back and forth, then up and down. "Follow it, but don't move your head." Sam reluctantly did as he was told. "A little sluggish on the up and down."

Sam remained silent. But Dean wasn't having it.

"Sam?"

Still nothing.

"Damn it, Sam."

"Hurts my eyes to look up and down," the younger man finally admitted. "Doesn't mean I have concussion though."

"Uh huh. What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

"You tried to stuff a smelly breakfast burrito in my face, but I had OJ and a bagel."

"And lunch yesterday?"

"Dean...soup. I had soup. Satisfied?"

"No, I'm not. You had veggie chili. And don't get me started on all reasons why 'veggie' chili is wrong, but it's what you had."

Sam sighed, more and more irritated with his brother as Dean's 'test' continued. "Close enough, Dean. It was a bowl with a soup-type food in it."

"Or not. Stand up."

"You just told me to sit down."

"And now I'm tellin' you to stand up. Come on."

As long legs pushed the lanky frame upwards, Dean didn't miss the slight dependence on the chair arm to get upright. He also didn't miss the small bobble before Sam stood straight.

"There. See? I'm fine."

"Fine, my ass. I saw that."

"Saw what?"

"You bobbled, Sam. And you had to steady yourself for a second. Come with me." Dean directed Sam to the door of the motel room. He opened it. It was sunny and bright outside. Apparently too bright...for a concussion victim. One step beyond the shade of the building's overhang, and Sam's hand immediately when to shield his eyes.

And that was the last sign Dean needed.

"Okay, we're done. Back inside. Go lay down. And so help me if you fight me on this..."

"It's bright outside, Dean."

"Ya think, Sherlock? You don't flinch like that in normal daylight. You're not okay."

A slow closing of the eyes cemented it for Dean. Sam was concussed. How serious, he didn't know, but it was enough to cause several symptoms so far. He ordered his brother to bed.

"It's almost three o'clock. The job can wait. Get into your sweats and get comfy, Sammy. You are down for the count and done for the day."

Sam opened his mouth to protest when Dean shut him down.

"No. And no. I can't have you out there like this, Sam. It's not safe for either of us and you need to get better."

A tee shirt and sweat pants that Dean dug out of Sam's duffle appeared and he set them on the bed. As Sam reached down for them he stumbled again and caught himself with an arm braced on the bed. He was lowered down by his brother to sit on the edge.

"You good?" Dean's tone was suddenly softer now. Sam wasn't denying the ailment anymore. Acceptance began washing over his face and Dean knew it. "You just need a break, man, okay? You keep pushing and bad crap will happen. To you. And I can't have that. So, change your clothes and rest. Yeah?"

Sam nodded, pain now a bit more evident on his face from the headache setting in. "Yeah." He reached over to grab the shirt, unbuttoning the dress shirt and sliding the tee on. Dean gave him space, but kept a corner eye on him. Sam stayed sitting on the bed getting his suit pants off. He had some trouble sliding into the sweats from the sit position, but eventually managed without asking his brother for help.

That same brother set a mug of warm tea on the nightstand. "Decaf. It's honey flavored, just like you like. It's the only decaf honey in the motel room stash, but I can go find more."

"No, s'okay, Dean. Thanks," Sam said as he pulled his legs onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard. The mug now enclosed tightly in both hands after a small sip. "Tastes good."

"Good. Here's the remote. Find something mindless."

"No TV. Can't really focus on a screen right now."

Concussion indeed. But Dean didn't give his brother the 'I told you so' lecture. Sam had deteriorated right in front of him these last few minutes. He didn't want to bring any additional stress to the situation. Instead, he focused on whatever he could to make things as easy on Sam as possible. The blinds were pulled tight to block out sunlight and anything that made a noise was either turned down, off or tossed in the closet. The room was now as dark and quiet as it could be for a motel just off the interstate at three in the afternoon.

Sam started drifting off, hand still on the mug, head falling slowly forward. Any normal day, Dean would stomp out a firm 'SAM' to wake him, but there was none of that this time. Instead, he removed the cup from his brother's hands and then adjusted Sam so that he was laying on his side on the bed, in a more comfortable horizontal position.

Dean whispered to him as he pulled the blanket up. "You, little brother, are such a pain in the ass." The words were gentle and filled with a fondness that he'd used so many times in the past with Sam when he knew he was feeling like hell. "But, you'll be okay. Just need some rest is all."

A few hours passed. Sam spent them in a restless sleep, but at least it _was_ sleep. Dean woke him just past six with a soft hand to the shoulder and low whispering of his name. "Sammy?"

Reluctant eyes opened just enough so that Sam could see the familiar face.

"Mm?"

"I'm gonna make a dinner run. You want?"

A sound came from the bed. Dean interpreted it as a no.

"Feeling like you need to get sick?"

Another no, but a delayed one. Sam wasn't sure what he felt and was probably afraid to move in order to find out. There was a small plastic trashcan in the bathroom. Dean put it bedside. "Puke bucket right here, Sammy. I won't be long. Here's your phone on the nightstand. You call me if you need me, okay?"

Sam grunted. Dean interpreted it as a yes and hurried out the door and down the road for takeout.

At his return, Sam was struggling to put an elbow under his side to prop himself upright on the bed.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing? Lay back down."

"Feel sick. Spinning."

Dean again manipulated his brother into a horizontal position. "Stay down. You need to puke, just pull your head over the side of the bed. Things are spinning, because you were tryin' for vertical and you can't do vertical right now."

"Dean."

"Sam, please just stay on the bed."

"Was trying to get _out_ of bed."

"Why?"

"Bathroom."

Dean's expression went from frustration to understanding. "Oh, right. Okay, we can do this."

It was slow progress getting him out of the bed, but once Sam was up and shuffling forward, things moved at a slightly faster speed. At the bathroom, Sam put a hand on the door frame. "M'okay here." Then he made the mistake of turning the light on. He fell backwards, but Dean hadn't moved yet and caught him.

"No light, Sam. Remember? You good?"

"Gimme a sec."

The suddenness of the bright light had knocked him for a loop and it would take a minute to recover. Sam already had a massive headache, this would only make it worse. But he worked through it and managed to get in and out of the bathroom with no additional drama. Dean got him back on the bed and tucked under the blanket and though physically things were settled for the moment, Sam was disoriented from the adventure.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"We home yet?"

The confusion didn't surprise Dean or even make him flinch. He would've been more surprised if the concussion _hadn't_ brought with it some type of confusion.

"Not yet, Sam."

"Soon though?"

"Not sure, little brother. You don't worry about that. I'll make sure we get home safe."

"Car ride was bumpy today."

They hadn't been in the car much and it hadn't been a rough trip, so it seemed that Sam was floating around in his mind. Again, Dean went along with it to keep the stress low.

"It was a bit bumpy, wasn't it? Maybe I should get Baby some new tires."

"Baby? You have a baby?"

"Our car, Sam. The Impala."

"Mmm. Oh. It's black, right?"

"It is."

"With legos."

Dean smiled at the immediate memory that the word 'legos' brought back. "Yeah, Sammy. With legos. And army men."

"I r'memer them."

"I bet you do. You should rest now. We can talk about the car when you feel better."

"We should go home, Dean."

Sam wasn't wrong, even in his semi-delirious state. This job wasn't a tough one, but there wasn't any way they could finish it. Sam was out of commission for a while and Dean wasn't about to leave him on his own for however long the job took. So, he made an easy decision.

The call was quick and to the point and the boys were off the job. Another hunter was glad to take up the chase. The next morning Dean met Ronnie outside the motel room, gave him the details of all they knew and thanked him for taking over.

Back inside, Sam closed his eyes when the door opened, then readjusted when he heard it close. "Who ya talkin' to?" His voice was rough and tired.

"Ronnie. I called him to finish our job so we can go home."

"Robby?"

"Ronnie. You know, crazy red-haired hunter in Michigan. He has a farm and cows and stuff."

Sam continued, sounding more confused with each of Dean's words. "He hunts cows?"

"No, he...wait. What? Who hunts cows? No one hunts cows. Unless the cows are haunted. Then, I guess...Can ghosts possess cows?"

"Ghost cows...no. Dean, stop."

"Huh? Oh sorry. You started it. Point is, we're off the case. We'll leave for home later today, closer to dark. It'll be easier on you and you can lay down in the backseat and get some shut eye on the drive. But no puking in my car, you hear me?"

From the bed, Sam had been drifting off again, not really hearing all Dean was saying. There were just too many words jumbled together for him to make much sense of them all. He did give a grunt of agreement though, since he had heard a question in there somewhere.

"Go to sleep, Sam."

Dean prepped his brother for the ride home. Packed the car. Packed Sam. It wasn't a simple task getting his long frame settled onto the backseat, but Dean managed. He stole a pillow from the motel room and set it under Sam's head. He also helped himself to a motel blanket, to help keep the chills down. They had at least an eight hour ride home, he'd make it as painless as he could.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, once he was settled behind the wheel. "Tell me if you need anything. I'll keep the radio off and the heat warm. We should be home before the sun is up."

The ride was uneventful, if one didn't count Sam's mind-drifting and random memories from the past. They mostly focused on the times they had to sleep in the car and some odd thoughts about hamburgers. Sam also floated back to their recent haunted cow discussion, but as the thoughts were at least clear and focused, if a bit off the wall, it didn't add too much worry to the concern Dean already had.

Home now with him bearing the weight of his brother and Sam's arm around his shoulders, they maneuvered the steps and the hall to Sam's room. Four AM and they'd were calling it a day.

By noon-time that same day there were positive signs. Sam even made it to the kitchen on his own, sat down and was okay with the dimmed light of the room. He even ate the scrambled egg that Dean had made for him. Easy on the stomach in case of any nausea.

"Looks like we can avoid the doc this time around, Sammy."

"Think so. S'better some this mornin'. Still just wanna sleep though."

"We are off hunting until you are 100%, so do what you need to, brother."

"Sorry for bein' a pain in the ass."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I'd be more concerned if you _weren't_ a pain in the ass. Just do me a favor, no more head wounds for a while."

"I'll try my best."

"Good."

"Hey, Dean, did we hunt haunted cows or something recently?"

Worried-Dean left the building. Laughing-Dean surfaced. That comment...that memory...it was enough to put all his worry to the side and actually get him laughing out loud.

"Dude, you were so out of it. No more haunted cow discussion."

"But..."

"Uh uh. No cows." Dean picked up the milk carton. "Except for the one on this side of this box." He poured a glass for Sam. "Drink your milk."

Sam pondered the cow on the carton. "A cow _could_ get haunted though. Right?"

"How, Sam? How could a cow get haunted? And why of all the things you said and did while you were in la-la land, do you remember some stupid discussion about cows?"

"Dean, exactly how many times have we talked about haunted cows in our lifetime?"

"None."

"Then that's why I remember."

"Really, Sam? I spent two days takin' care of you, makin' sure you didn't die from brain trauma in some contaminated motel room and all you remember are cows?"

Sam smirked and lifted an eyebrow. Even in his tired state, the humor on his face came through. "It's not all I remember, but it's the one thing that stands out."

"More than me?"

"You are always with me, Dean. You're always worried about me when I'm down. I see that all the time. I'm used to it. I expect it. I need it. But haunted cows? That's not something you see everyday."

"Sam, there were no haunted cows. None!" Dean was working himself up now. He kept his voice low for Sam's sake, but Dean had an innate ability to forcefully whisper like no other. "The _only_ thing I said about cows was that Ronnie was a hunter in Michigan who had a farm with cows. Then you and your state of freakin' delirium decided he was hunting cows because they were haunted. There are no haunted cows. Anywhere. Ever."

Sam rubbed at his temples for a minute, any energy he had clearly winding down. But this whole haunted cow thing was interesting. And well, he did enjoy making his brother crazy from time to time. Perhaps he should... "Hey, maybe the Men of Letters library has something on haunted livestock or ghosts and bovine spirits. I should check it out and..."

"No, no and no. You are not checking out anything." Dean began winding up. "You are going to drink your milk and then go back to bed. That's it. Do not pass Go, do not collect one hundred freakin' dollars."

"Okay" Sam responded with a simple shrug.

"Really? Okay? Just like that? You're not gonna get upset because I'm treating you like a kid or some other stupid ass reason?"

"No, it's okay. I am tired. And I do need rest. You're just looking out for me like you always do."

Dean came back down now. Settled by his little brother's heartfelt words. "I do. I always have."

"Yeah, I know that. Okay..." Sam downed the milk and got up from the table. "I'll go lay down. If any haunted cows stampede into the bunker, you'll wake me, right?"

"I might kill you first if you keep going on about the damn cows."

"Yeah. Sure. Night, Dean."

"It's noon. Night, Sammy."

"Thanks for looking after me."

"Always, little brother...come cows or concussion."

* * *

The End


End file.
